Before You Vote, Remember How Recently We Couldn’t

When I was five, my kindergarten teacher asked each of us what we wanted to be when we grew up. I said a nurse, because it was the only job I could think of that a girl could do. I was five, and I had already learned the list was short.  The photo above is me at my kindy graduation. 

I’m 76 now, and I want to tell you something that still stuns me when I say it out loud.

Not That Long Ago

When I was in my twenties, a woman could be denied a credit card simply because she was a woman. Banks could ask for a husband’s signature, or just say no. It wasn’t until 1974 that a federal law said they couldn’t. Think about that. Not being able to borrow money, build credit, or buy a house on your own.

Women got the vote in 1920. That’s 106 years ago. It’s not ancient history. Women who remembered life before it were still around when I was a girl.

And even 1920 wasn’t the whole story. Many Black women in the South were kept from the ballot for decades more, until the Voting Rights Act of 1965. Native American women weren’t recognized as citizens until 1924. So when I say “many women fought hard for this,” I mean it. They fought, they were jailed, and some never got to cast a ballot themselves.

Where I Learned the List Was Short

I grew up in a small town in Southeast Georgia, where girls were limited, and nobody thought to question it. Nobody told me my voice counted either. It was just the way it was.

Millen, Georgia. I tried everything available to me, and never once wondered why the list was so short.

What Those Limits Taught Us

Here’s what I understand now, after thirty years of working with women. Those limits did more than close doors. They taught us not to trust ourselves. Little by little, we learned that our instincts were less reliable than someone else’s, that we should wait for permission, and that a man should handle the hard things.

I lived that. When I was 34, a 19-year-old neighbor exposed himself to me while I was mowing the lawn in my front yard. My two-year-old son was playing right beside me. I looked up, grabbed my son, and ran into the backyard. That night my husband went across the street to talk to the boy and his parents. Their response? Well, she had on short shorts.

What the everlovin f*ck.

Now I think I would have gone over myself. By myself. Why did I need my husband to do it? I’m glad he did, but it wasn’t even about him. Somewhere along the way I had learned to hand that off.

There were other moments. When I was a senior in high school, my piano teacher tried to kiss me. I had no idea what to do, so I turned my head away. I didn’t know what to say. I’d learned that too.

Why Voting Matters So Much to Me

A ballot is an act of self-trust. It says my judgment counts, my voice belongs in the room, and I don’t need anyone’s permission or endorsement to decide. The women who fought for this were refusing to be told their judgment wasn’t good enough. When we don’t use it, we quietly agree with the old story.

Election Day is Tuesday, November 3. If you haven’t voted yet, please check your state’s official election website for your polling place, ballot drop-off locations, and deadlines. Then call your sister, your daughter, your friend, your neighbor, and make sure she goes too.

So here’s to my four granddaughters. May you always know what to say. May you be able to speak when something isn’t right. And when anyone tries to blame you for what they did, may you know exactly whose fault it is. And say so. 

And may you never, ever hand your voice to someone else.

My four beautiful granddaughters